


Propinquity

by lexicalacuna



Series: Desiderata [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Creampie, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexicalacuna/pseuds/lexicalacuna
Summary: Oswald Cobblepot has always been a man who stood alone, shunning comraderie for ambition. When the latter results in his forced departure from Gotham, he finds himself down and out- injured confronted with his own vulnerabilities. If only he let someone in once in a while.Non-Canon. Takes place mid-season 3- instead of Ivy Pepper finding Oswald Cobblepot- you do.Reader insert/OFC with gratuitous PWP. Not always particularly coherent or logical so please pardon the writing. The strange plot progression is a common side effect when your libido does the writing.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Original Female Character(s), Oswald Cobblepot/Reader, Oswald Cobblepot/You
Series: Desiderata [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782805
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

Oswald woke up, jerking awake from the reel of nightmares he was caught in after being tossed into the pier by his supposed best friend. The fact that he was alive was simultaneously surprising and yet...not. The last time he was held at gunpoint at that pier left him with his life, it seemed analogous that this time would have been any different.  
  
He slowly flexed and moved his muscles, wincing when the flexing of his right ankle sent a sharp pain shooting up his leg. He glanced down, unable to see the source of his pain as he was covered with a duvet. The slight faded, pilled surface of the floral duvet suggested a worn in homeliness. He struggled to sit up, groaning at the stiffness and soreness that had set into his muscles, the movement taking more effort than he was willing to admit.  
  
"Oh, you're awake." came a voice to his right.  
  
He glanced around wildly, grasping at his hip for a weapon that did not materialize. He looked down, noticing that he was wearing an old hoodie, the university logo faded from multiple washes.  
She entered the room cautiously, both curious and cautious. She was petite, with wide, almond shaped eyes that held both fright and a mounting curiosity.  
  
"Who are you? Do we know each other?" He asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"No, we're not acquainted," she replied, moving to sit next to him on the bed, causing him to immediately recoil and move to his left, wary of her actions.

"Relax, if I wanted to hurt you I would have left you washed up on the shore for the seagulls to pick at," she murmured, turning around to gently lift the duvet, revealing his bandaged right ankle.

"Where are we?" Oswald asked, his voice still jerky, tinged with anxiety.

"Outskirts of Gotham. North of the county...this cottage belonged to my aunt in the '80s. I took over when things got bad in Gotham with the virus and all that. Now there's a city wide lockdown with armies at the parameter. No one in or out. Been getting my supplies from Pettsburg instead. Safer," she replied, rambling slightly to mask her excitement and anxiety.

"Well, I need to get back, I need to rally the troops, repay Ed for-" Oswald started, moving to sit up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, quickly standing up, only to crumple to the ground with a groan.

She rushed to help him up, sliding her arms around his torso and hoisting him up, tucking him back into bed.

"Your right leg is injured, I wouldn't advise-" she began, reaching to cover him again.

"My right leg is none of your concern!" He blasted back, his feigned patience finally giving away, leveling her with a cold, steely gaze.

She met his gaze with bated breath, steeling herself before tucking the duvet delicately over his legs and lap.

"Look. I don't know what happened….but your ankle was in bad shape. Not your knee. So I patched it up. It'll be a while before it can support any weight. Just give it a while." She reasoned.

He glared at her, his rage smoldering beneath his cold blue irises before he flipped back into the small pile of pillows behind him with a huff.

"Why are you helping me anyway? What do you want out of this?" He murmured, glancing around, taking in his surroundings. It wasn't a big room, with the queen sized bed taking up the bulk of the space. The space had a desk with a laptop and books piled on it, coupled with a wardrobe and a few cheats of drawers adorned with crafts, plants and pictures.

"You washed up at the shore nearby and it seemed remiss of me to leave you there," she started, slowly meeting his gaze again. "But then I recognized who you were and…." Her voice trailed off before she started again. "So I brought you here."

Oswald stared at her, brows furrowed in confusion. "So you brought me here, played doctor and…hoped for the best?" He replied, his tone derisive, barely concealing a laugh.

"It was the right thing to do." She said firmly, giving him a small but grim smile.

He stared at her, a half grin on his face, shaking his head slightly at the incredulity of the situation.

"Look...I'm all alone." She said with a sigh. "This is the most interesting thing that has happened to me since….ever. My mom, my best friend, died when I was-" she stopped, noticing that he averted his gaze, glancing out the window.

"What did I-" she began, before he interrupted her.

"Don't. Just don't." He murmured, staring out at the heavy snowfall, shuddering slightly, unconsciously pulling the duvet up towards him.

"Oh." She whispered softly, understanding.

In a rush of courage, she moved to sit next to him in bed, tucking herself under the covers.  
  
He instantly scooches to the side, giving her a look of mild disgust before she stills his movements with a gentle hand on his arm.

"Come on, there's no one else here. We're both alone," she murmurs, looking into his eyes, mesmerized by the icy hue of his eyes.

He held her gaze, breath bated, feeling his heartbeat accelerate.

"Come on, I'm cold," she says with a slight laugh, tucking herself under, pressing her body a little closer to his.

"Are you crazy?" He murmurs, but remaining still, not moving away, secretly welcoming the heat her proximity brought.  
"You know who I am, what I've done and still you're here, snuggling up to me like I'm a personal teddy bear." His smile broadened, sardonic and confused all at once.

"What can I say?" She murmurs, now leaning against him fully, cheek coming to gently rest against his shoulder. "I'm lonely,"

"Aren't we all," he mutters bitterly, leaning back.

They gazed quietly out the window at the thickening snowfall, letting the moments pass as they slowly accepted the strange reality they were both plunged into.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PWP. As promised.

Chapter 2:  
She woke up pressed up against him, her body swaddled into the curve of his body. He was fast asleep, his breathing still heavy and deep, his arm absently slung about her waist, just below her breasts. It was at this moment that she realized that she was very, very close to him. And that she was not wearing a bra.  
  
His forearms brushed up against the underside of her breasts, the realization making her shudder slightly. She shifted slightly, freezing at another realization: her arse was pressed against the front of his body, his right leg thrown over her legs, basically spooning her.The thin material of the old sweatpants she put on him meant that she could feel his cock, flaccid, but thick, present, pressing into the curve of her arse. She feels a rush of arousal pool in her groin, her face reddening as she realizes how this small intimacy was already eliciting such a visceral response from her.

Without thinking, she moves to shift her body away a little, her better judgement and irrational need for modesty momentarily eclipsing her arousal.

In a heartbeat, she found herself pressed into the bed, Oswald's hand tightening around her neck in a vise grip, his eyes wild with alarm.

"Pe-Os-Oswald," she manages, shaking her head, her hand coming up to encircle his wrist.

He slowly wakes up, coming to his senses, abruptly letting go and moving to stand up, moving away from the awkward situation.

He falls back onto the bed with a yelp of pain, nursing his ankle.

"You have to stay off your feet," she murmurs, reaching for his ankle.

He bats her hand away, embarrassed and ashamed, his gaze averting hers.

"Come on, let me," she murmurs, gently reaching down, massaging it lightly with deft, warm fingers. She breathes onto her hands and rubs them together rapidly, warming them, before pressing them to his ankle, gently massaging it.

He winces slightly but doesn't recoil this time, looking out, tearing up slightly at the intimacy of this admitted vulnerability. She keeps up the massage, taking time to rub her hands together ever so often to keep them warm. She hears a small sniff and she peeks up slowly, seeing thin rivulets of tears running down his face. She slowly abandons the massage, reaching up to brush away an errant tear, her hand coming up to cup his face.

He doesn't pull away this time, turning to look at her, eyes wide, glassy from his tears, leaning into the moment. "Why are you doing this? You don't even know me," he whispers quietly, expression unguarded, vulnerable, his gaze finally falling away, suddenly interested in the floral patterns of the duvet, unable to look her in the eye. 

"You're alone. Hurt. And I've been there. You shouldn't have to be alone," she murmurs, recognizing how sentimental and absurd her words were.

Here she was, cradling the cheek of one of Gotham's most notorious criminals, comforting him. But that fact didn't seem to matter to her. All she saw was another lonely soul, broken by the harsh vicissitudes of Gotham, a man as isolated as she was.

She studied his features, taking in his sharp, somewhat aquiline nose. His skin was pale, almost luminescent in the moonlight. His eyes (her favourite feature of his, she decided) glinted, twinkling in the dark, betraying his pensive state.

"You have beautiful eyes, you know that?" she murmurs, taking his chin in hand and gently lifting his face, taking in the startling blue, cobalt, in the dark. Her hand moves to cup his face again, her thumb strokes across his cheekbone.

He cautiously raises his gaze to meet hers, his own confused, curious. He leans in a little closer, their faces inches apart now.

"No one...no one has really said that before," he murmurs, now acutely aware of the fact that their bodies were so close. Of the fact her other hand was resting lightly on his thigh.

"Yeah...well, they're lovely. Enchanting," she whispers, realizing how close they were, his breath fanning across her cheek.

In a move of impulse and list, she closes the distance between them, her lips pressing against his.

She moans slightly, surprised at the chapped, yet lush softness of his lips against hers.

He freezes for a moment, thrown off, but meets her, lips moving against hers, teeth pressing into her lower lip, asking for entrance. She complies, gently parting her lips, moaning louder when his tongue meets her, moving roughly, eagerly against her.

She moves to sit astride his lap, wanting, needing, more proximity, more touch. She grinds against his groin, eager, wanting. It had been too long.

He pulls away, gasping slightly to look up at her, irises now dark.

"Well, this took an unexpected turn," he teases, his voice developing an edge that wasn't there before.

"Do you want to stop?" She rasps, moving to mouth at his neck, nipping and lapping at the skin there, determined to mark his pale flesh with her ministrations.

"No," he replied curtly, hands slipping under her sweater, savouring the feel of her soft skin yielding to his touch. He roams to the front of her body, reaching for her breasts, relishing the soft heft of them, rolling her nipples between his fingertips.

She bites her lip, moving to remove her sweater, shivering in the cold, pulling the duvet over them, sliding her body against his.

"Let's warm up," she murmurs, gently brushing the tip of her nose against his, reaching for the growing bulge in the front of his pants.

"You're very forward aren't you," he says with a snicker, grunting slightly as he moves to release his erection from his pants.

She scoots back, parting his legs and sitting between them, duvet falling loosely about her arms.

He was uncircumcised and thick, the tip of his cock already leaking precum.

"Wow," she manages, looking up at him, his gaze clouded with lust.

"Go on," he encourages, his cock twitching as another bead of precum trickles down.

She takes him in hand, her fingers barely able to touch as she starts to pump, sliding his foreskin up and down, using his precum as a lubricant. He lets out a sigh of pleasure, leaning back, hips lifting slightly to meet her pumps.

"It's been a while for me," she says softly, staring at the reddened tip of his cock glaze over with precum that had begun to pool at the top.

Without warning, she leans forward, taking him into her mouth, suckling at the tip with a low moan. She starts to bob her head, trying to take more of him into her mouth until her nose brushed against his pubic hair.

"Oh my God," he rasped, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers wound through her hair, holding her head, guiding her head as she sucked him off, obscene, wet sounds filling the air.

After a while, he tugs her up, gasping slightly, his cock twitching hard.

"Are you game for more?" He asks, pulling her into his lap, smirking slightly as he felt her wetness through her thin pants.

"Yes, please," she whispers, her eyes wide, obliging, clumsily removing her pants, a bead of his precum still at the corner of her lips.

She moves to straddle him again, whimpering slightly when she feels the thick curve of his cock brush against her pussy. She takes his cock in hand and guides it to her entrance, slowly sinking down on him, groaning as she takes him in. He was thick and he was spreading her wide, the stretch slightly painful despite how wet she was.

"You're really thick," she whispers, hands on his shoulder to steady herself, meeting his gaze.

He met her gaze with a strange look-: hunger, curiosity, vulnerability.

It was his first time, she realized. She acknowledges this realization by leaning forward, kissing him soundly on the lips, her arse gently tilting back to take more of him in, loving the sound of his moan against her lips.

"Take me as hard as you need," she whispers against his lips, her words barely eclipsing a moan as she takes him, fully seated in her. She was getting used to how he spread her wide, the way his cock twitched inside of her, hitting just the right spot. She slowly lifts her hips, rolling and pushing down, riding him slowly, trying to get used to his girth, smiling at the look of lustful bliss taking over his features.

"You're divine," he murmurs, hips pushing up hard into her as his fingers dug into her hips, holding her in place, smiling as she whined in pleasure and pain.

He kept this up, pushing her arse down on him as he continued to thrust up into her.

"Fuck, Oswald, yes," she moaned, falling forward, burying her face into the crook of his neck as he fucked her. She comes with a low whine, her pussy fluttering and tightening around his cock, milking him.

His pace intensifies, brutal almost as he fucks up into her.

"Finish inside me," she says breathlessly, nipping at his earlobe, eyes closing as she surrenders to his brutal fucking.

He acquiesces, holding her hips in place as he comes with a loud moan, cock swelling and throbbing as he cums inside her, each pulse filling her with a stream of thick cum. He groans, arms tightening around her as his hips thrust up, cock twitching hard inside her as he unloads a heavy load of spend into her.

She sighs with pleasure, eyelids already getting heavy from her own orgasm.

"Thank you," she murmurs sleepily, planting a gentle kiss on his neck. She slowly rolls off him, feeling his cock disengage and rub against her thigh, shuddering at the trail of wetness it left.  
She lies against his, smiling a little at the sensation of his seed trickling languorously out of her.

He doesn't say anything, still breathless from the encounter. He closes his eyes, relishing the moment, registering the fact that she had nuzzled into his side, arm slung across his torso. He studies her quietly, his own vision swimming as he finally succumbs to his looming slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more fluff and comfort now.

Oswald wakes up, feeling ever exhausted, a strange heaviness in his chest, his abdomen. He frowned, trying to process what the feeling was. He realizes, with a slight furrow in his brow, that the leaden weight in his limbs wasn't just from exhaustion and lethargy but the pleasing weight of a body sated and well rested- a sensation he was not entirely familiar with. 

He then turns to see her, still nuzzled into his side, her shoulder exposed to the cold air. He studies her as she sleeps, the way her body crested and relaxed, relaxed and fast asleep. He wondered if anyone else besides his mother has been this at ease in his presence. She looked especially young in sleep, her expression peaceful, sated. 

Without thinking, he moves to lift the duvet to cover her, tucking her in. 

This action wakes her and she slowly stirs from her slumber, turning to look up at him, eyes still bleary from sleep. 

She sighs, shifting her limbs, starting slightly when she feels some strange, sticky slick dribble from between her legs, sticking to her thighs. It took a moment before the full magnitude of what happened the night before hit her. 

Oswald watched her expression, mistaking her alarm for something else and he chokes back a laugh, shaking his head as he stares out the window. The landscape was blanketed with white, the silhouette of trees barely scrutable over the thick veil of snow. The sky was a dull grey, with the foreboding cloudiness of an incoming storm, contrasting the deceptive stillness of the undisturbed snow.    
  
“You already regret last night,” he states, the question coming out as more of a statement as he moves to get out of bed, wincing when he tries to shift his ankle. He sits up, moving to massage his ankle, feeling the creeping cold bite into the already tender area.    
  
She sat up, shivering as she pulled her sweater back on, leaning forward to take over the massaging of his ankle. 

"Get away, I don't need your help." he snaps, wincing as he tries to ease the sharp, throbbing ache in his ankle. 

"Oswald..." she starts, her voice gentle, slightly reproachful. 

"I DON'T NEED YOU," he bellows, eyes glossing over, features screwed up in resentment and humiliation as he tries to nurse his wounded ankle and pride. 

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself before she looks him in the eye, resolute but deferent: "Okay." she murmurs. "Okay." 

She gently puts her hand on his ankle, rubbing small circles on it, relieved that he does not push her away. 

\--------

It took some coaxing to get him to stay in bed, as his effusive obstinacy meant he kept trying to sit up and follow her to the kitchen. He would go on, rambling about his plans for revenge, his eyes glinting with malice and a percolating vengeance, his voice edged with resentment.    
  
While terrifying, she had to admit that his resolve was admirable. Even when isolated and in pain, he had remarkable spirit and resolve. It explained how a man with a limp could have survived in Gotham’s underworld for so long.    
  
Finally, she relented and swung his arm about her shoulders, her arm slung about his waist as she helped him hobble to the small dining table in the adjoining room.    
  
As she deposited him into a chair, it took that much more effort to get him to stay there, stifling a smile at the petulant annoyance that crept across his features at being coddled in his state. She noticed the slight tremor in his form and moved to fetch a plump patchwork quilt from the sofa, draping it around his shoulders, tucking the ends together at the front of his chest, giving his shoulders a light squeeze before heading to the stove.    
  
He huffed, eyes rolling, but nevertheless pulled the duvet tighter around his shoulders.    
  
“Are you always this difficult?” she asked as she heated up the stove, reheating some beef stew she had from the night before. She gave the congealed stew a few cursory stirs before she moved to fetch a loaf of baguette, slicing the crusty bread into flaking discs to be toasted up, masking the slight staleness.    
  
“I’m a grown man, I do not need to be mollycoddled and babied,” he replied with a defiant jut of his chin, shaking his head as he looked around, studying his surroundings. The kitchen and living room were one and the same, with the kitchen taking up a small corner of the room space, the living room simple- a fireplace, a TV mounted above it and a worn, but comfortable looking leather couch with fur throws and blankets. The environment was comfortably lived in without being horrifically messy, he noticed, pulling the duvet tighter, reveling in the warmth.    
  


"You're something else," he remarks, looking at her up, sizing her up. "You're confident, clearly intelligent, independent and yet....you've chosen to stay isolated. Why?" 

“Survival,” she said with a shrug, putting the baguette rounds on a baking sheet before putting it into the oven to toast. She returned her attention to the pot on the stove, smiling as the stew began to loosen and heat up, the rich warmth of caramelizing fat filling the air as she stirred the stew, being careful to break up at any congealed lumps.

"You've seen Gotham, you know how it is. The strong, the rich- they prey on the weak. Everyone else struggles to stay afloat, or they stick around long enough to pick at what's left behind after each new wave of crazy that hits the city," she continues, dipping a pinky into the stew to check the temperature, jumping slightly at the heat.    
  
He doesn’t reply, his mouth pulling into a thin line as he nods absently, watching her move.    
  
She reached for a bowl, doling out a generous portion of the stew into a bowl. She removed the baking sheet from the oven and grabbed a block of salted butter from the fridge, laying it in front of Oswald with a nod.   
  
“Eat,” she said with a nod, gesturing towards the modest spread as she moved to fetch a bowl for herself, ladling out a generous portion of the stew.    
  
He looks at the bowl skeptically, eyes darting towards her and the bowl, eyes narrowed in suspicion.    
  
“Eat,” she repeated, jabbing a spoon in his direction. “It’s been days since you’ve had a proper meal, aren’t you hungry at all?” she mumbles, mouth full of bread.    
  
He glances down at the bowl, his hunger and the warm, heady smell of the dark stew finally winning out over his stubbornness. He relents, picking up the spoon and scooping a small amount of the stew and defiantly jabbing it into his mouth, chewing exaggeratedly.    
  
She shakes her head with a small smile, plucking off small balled pieces of bread to dip into the stew.

“And you saw I’m something else,” she mused, watching him process his food.    
  
He chewed, his defiance melting away as he realized that the stew was actually quite delicious. It was thick, velvety and umami, with a salty sweetness that melded perfectly with the chunks of still succulent meat and the soft blobs of potato and tender carrots chunks.    
  
“This is adequate,” he mumbles, unable to concede, taking another spoonful and averting her gaze, reaching for the butter knife.    
  
She smiles in triumph, nodding as she continues to eat, glancing up every now and then to watch him.    
  
His hunger soon grew ravenous, telegraphed by him cramming large chunks of buttered bread into his mouth, chewing vigorously, spooning stew rapidly into his mouth, a thin line of gravy dribbling down his chin.    
  
She puts down her spoon, stands up and moves to fill a glass of water, sliding it across to him, gently putting a hand on his arm.   
  
“Slow down,” she murmurs.    
  
He ignores her, still eating at a breakneck pace, his hunger eclipsing his reason.   
  
“Oswald,” she said more firmly, stilling his arm, squatting down to look at him face to face. He eats a little faster, defiant, his hunger nearly blinding.    
  
“Oswald,” she repeats, semi shouting. “There’s enough. There’s food,” she murmurs, gently touching his face. 

  
He pauses, staring back at her, calm slowly returning to his face. He gives the slightest of nods, lowering the hunk of bread, moving to wipe the gravy off his chin.    
  
“Take your time,” she murmurs, gently patting his arm.    
  
He stares at her, his expression inscrutable.    
  
She smiles, giving his arm a small squeeze before moving to the oven to slice and toast more bread. She then moves to grab a fresh block of salted butter, unwrapping it and laying it on a platter, placing it in front of Oswald. She moves swiftly, grabbing his bowl and ladling more stew into it, ensuring his bowl was full of meat and vegetables. She places it back in front of him, gently pushing it towards him.   
  
“There’s enough,” she repeats, gently patting his back.    
  
He doesn’t look up again, but resumes eating at a more humane pace, taking the time to relish the flavours of the stew and the rich fattiness of the butter, letting the warmth spread over him. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please observe my feeble attempts to weave a plot.

She waits till he falls asleep before she moves to do some laundry, a modest load that had accumulated for a few days due to her unexpected visitor. She was in the midst of shutting the lid on the washer when she felt a chill through the house- unusual, given the fact she kept every window and door sealed, the heater running perpetually during this frigid season.  
  
She shuts the lid slowly, realization dawning on her as she moves to the front of the house, eyes widening in horror at the gaping front door, some snow already spilling in as a telling trail of broken snow betrayed that Oswald had taken her absence as an opportunity to flee.   
  
“Oswald!” she called out, her voice drowned out by the heavy, swirling snow, the whipping gales stronger than her thin calls of his name.   
  
She followed the trail with her eyes, frowning at the abrupt ending. She moved towards it, gasping at the crumpled heap of black in front of her.   
  
\----   
  
She was not dressed to rushed out of the house, so it took no little amount of effort to haul him back inside.   
  
He was already unconscious, knocked out from the cold and from exhaustion, his clothes soaked through by the snow. With great effort, she managed to tip him into bed, panting from the exertion of bearing the dead weight. She peeled the wet clothes off of him, moving quickly to grab an extra duvet to wrap about him, being sure to bundle the fabric tightly around his chest. She then covers his legs with the duvet on her bed, tucking the ends in before moving to grab a small handtowel, moving to dry his hair, rubbing circles on his head.   
  
The slightly rough gesture wakes him up and he comes to, sitting up and trying to bat her away, before falling back again, shuddering heavily as the cold hit him.   
  
“What the hell were you thinking?!” she said with an exasperated huff, putting the towel down and staring at him incredulously. “It’s on the brink of a blizzard out there and you just haul ass the moment I leave the room?”   
  
With remarkable effort, he sits up a little more, duvet pulled around his shoulders.   
  
“I needed to get back to Gotham,” he hisses back, his voice rasping from the heavy shivering. “I told you, that city is my lifeblood. There is so much I need to take back and claim as my own. But you INSIST on keeping me here as a coddled prisoner!” his voice raising till he was basically bellowing at her.   
  
“You weren’t going to reach Gotham,” she replied with a scoff and a shake of the head. “You were going to reach the end of the lawn before dropping dead from exhaustion and hypothermia!”   
  
“Anything is better than this,” he replies savagely. “This….inaction, this placid nothingness. Gotham _belongs_ to me. It is in flux, chaos- what better time for me to return and take back what is rightfully mine?” he glares back, the duvet slipping down a little.   
  
She stares back at him, shaking her head.   
  
“I just saved your life, how about you show a little appreciation and stop being such a dick all the time?” she shoots back.   
  
In a matter of seconds, she finds herself pressed on her back once again, his hand tight on her throat, choking off her windpipe.   
  
“My life, is nothing. I lost my role as mayor, I lost my empire,” he hissed, tears of rage prickling at his eyes, his fingers tightening.   
  
“I lost my mother,” his voice hitches, the tears threatening to spillover. “The only person who ever cared about me.” He takes a moment to compose himself, tears spilling over despite the mounting calm in his tone.   
  
“So Gotham is all I have left, all I need to rebuild _my_ name!” he murmurs, slackening the pressure slightly.   
  
She doesn’t reply, her face already streaked with tears from fear. She stares up at him, hiccuping slightly from her sobs.   
  
He stares down at her, annoyed at her lack of response. “Well?” he demanded, pushing at her throat, trying to illicit a response.   
  
She seizes the opportunity to wriggle free from his gasp, rolling him off and distancing herself, sitting on the other end of the bed, massaging her throat.   
  
“You’re insane,” she burbles, tears falling afresh. “All you can do is fixate on Gotham and what you’ve lost, instead of trying to move forward.” She stares at him, eyes hardening. “I spent the last 3 days ensuring you didn’t drop dead and you still think that no one cares about you?”   
  
He scoffs, leaning towards her, pressing his face right in front of hers, confrontational and rearing for a fight.   
  
“You’re a fool. I could have killed you,” he sneers back, derisive but also indignant, adamant on believing the narrative he so long endorsed.   
  
“And you didn’t,” she retorts, leveling his gaze, pulling her end of the duvet around her, shivering, the exertion making her all the more aware of the cold.   
  
He glares back, turning away abruptly. “You were lucky I didn’t,” he says simply. “Count your lucky stars that you’ve been spared.”   
  
She laughs, a shrill, sarcastic sound, storming over to his side of the bed to confront him again. “Is it so fucking difficult to believe that someone could care for you?” she retorts, arms crossed.   
  
“Yes, because you don’t even know me!” he hollers back, voice betraying his peaking exasperation.   
  
She purses her lips, glancing down for a moment before meeting his eyes. “Well, I felt like I did. Sometimes,”   
  
He shakes his head, laughing, eyes still glinting with haughty condescension. “Oh, because of what happened last night in bed?” he taunted. “That was your libido taking charge, not your emotions. Don’t mistake that for care,” he spat back.   
  
Her eyes hardened, her temper building. “What came after it. Before it,” she retaliates, her cheeks reddening at the memory of the intimacies. “When you told me about your plans, about all the people who have betrayed you,” She purses her lips, trying to control her tears. “I may not have been a crimelord,” her voice warbling. “But that doesn’t exempt me from the same experiences, the same emotions, that you’ve felt,” she says softly. She gulped, steeling herself before continuing. “So yeah, people betrayed you and the people around you really seem prone to that, but you know what? There are good people out there, people who would gladly care for you and love you, if only you cared to look for them.”   
  
He listens to her, a sardonic smile etched on his face. “Fear and manipulation,” he begins, his tone dripping with false cheeriness. “Is what secured me my role in Gotham’s underworld. Not care and certainly not love,” he finished with a shaky laugh. He paused, his lips pulling into a thin smile. “But I suppose that’s not enough.”   
  
He looks into the air, pensive. “All I wanted is for them to respect, to love me,” he murmurs, the slight warble betraying the creeping vulnerability, a dent in his bravado.   
  
She notices this and moves to sit next to him with a sigh, adjusting the duvet about him, gently tucking it into his hands at the front of his chest. “Maybe you’ve been meeting the wrong people,” she says gently, giving his clasped hands a squeeze. Without seeking his permission, she moves to dry his hair again, taking care to be gentler, taking out as much of the damp as she could, being careful to brush the long, spiky bangs of wet hair away from his eyes, her fingers moving deftly but gently across his features.   
  
He watches her as she does this, his expression softening, studying her features quietly as she tended to him, not realizing the tears already trickling down his cheek.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter but definitely more fluffy, with a concerted attempt to establish more rapport and chemistry between them.

She glances up, noticing his tears and it gives her pause. She hesitates before she moves to gently brush her thumb against his cheek, wiping away the tears, before holding his gaze.   
  
“I’m sorry. “ she murmurs, gently stroking the swell of his cheek. “Life has been very unkind to you,” she says softly, dropping the towel to cup his face in both her hands.   
  
He doesn’t stop her, his own gaze transfixed by her actions.   
  
“You’re a brilliant man,” she murmurs, a small, sad smile on her lips. “You’ve just been dealt a really bad set of cards at a cruel, cruel table of players.” she continues. She takes a breath, summoning the courage to continue. “I’m sure, your mother would be proud of all you’ve accomplished. Of how far you’ve come. Of your grit and fighting spirit. And she would have every reason to be.” she says shakily, leaning up to press a slow, soft kiss to the top of his forehead.   
  
When she pulls back, his gaze follows her motion, his icy blue irises glassy, wide and vulnerable, his mouth slightly open as he processes her words. He wants to say something but doesn’t- he just looks at her, taking in the full gravity of the moment.   
  
Her eyes run over his face, noticing how long and lush his lashes were, the dark circles under his eyes, etched permanently there due to exhaustion. The light dusting of freckles on his nose.   
  
She takes a chance, leaning in to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips, the action slow, deliberate, almost languorous. She cups his face as she does this, one hand gently stroking the side of his face.   
  
Despite their amorous night before, this act seemed like the most intimate thing they had done.   
  
The kiss throws him off, and he reciprocates slowly, hesitantly, a small gasp of emotion escaping his lips as she kisses him, his eyes fluttering shut as he relishes the action, tears still running down his cheek as he leans into the kiss, his hand coming up to grip her upper arm- a tether, so he isn’t swept away by the wave of emotion threatening to engulf him.   
  
She pulls away to look at him, her face slightly anxious- she was intimidated by the intimacy of it all, the intensity of their discussion that culminated in a single moment of impulse.   
  
He looks at back at her, uncomprehending, swallowing slightly as he tries to process what happened.   
  
She notices the hesitation and smiles slightly, leaning her forehead against his, gently bumping her nose against his.   
  
“When was the last time somebody held you?” she asked, her lips, inches from his, feeling his breath on her lips.   
  
There is a brief pause before he replies.   
  
“I….I can’t remember,” he manages, his thumb absently rubbing circles on her upper arm. “My mother used to….” his voice hitches and he composes himself before continuing. “She used to hold me and sing me to sleep,” he says softly, indulging his emotions for once.   
  
She takes the hint and shifts further into the bed, moving to pull Oswald into her arms, letting his head loll onto her bosom, her limbs and the pile of duvets ensconcing him in a warm embrace as she gently hums a soft lullaby, her cheek pressed lightly on top of his head, gently squeezing him before her embrace relaxes about him, swaying gently from side to side.   
  
He closes his eyes, the tears falling afresh as he leans into her embrace, relishing the proximity and the contact, arms coming up to hold her arms as he allows himself to be lulled into a deep slumber.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The porn is back. 
> 
> That's all.

Oswald awakes in the middle of the night, no longer shivering and frigid, but warm, limbs heavy with slumber. He slowly opens his eyes, surprised by the lush softness against his face. He sits up a little more, trying to remember how he got into his position and he bumps against her, sound asleep, her chest lightly rising and falling.   
  
He pauses, thinking. He slowly lies back down, pressing his cheek against her breast, feeling his cock twitch to life.   
  
She stirs awake, chest shifting slightly as she stretches, arms automatically moving to embrace him lightly, as if he were her favourite bolster, gently holding him to her chest. “Why are you awake?” she murmured sleepily, nuzzling drowsily into the crown of his head, arms gently squeezing about him, the simple gesture making his cock swell even more, throbbing urgently as he remained pressed against her.   
  
“I often have insomnia,” he lies smoothly, his voice slightly hoarse, torn between the warmth of the moment and the mounting desire to escalate the situation. “Waking up in the middle of the night is par the course when you have many enemies out for your blood.”   
  
She gives a sleepy half chuckle, hugging him even tighter, shifting so that they could lie side by side and she could spoon him as she fell back asleep. As she shifted, her thigh brushed against something hard and her eyes widened a little more as she moved to rub them, waking up.   
  
“Oh?” she whispers, her knee teasingly rubbing against his erection, looking to gauge his reaction.   
  
He freezes, holding his breath, aching for more while also being torn over what to say next.   
  
“Well...we were in a rather intimate position and…..” he managed, his tone feigning formality as he tried to maintain his composure.   
  
“Are you going to do anything about it?” she asks softly, reaching between them to gently grasp his cock, gently massaging it. He squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a huff of restrained pleasure, his cock twitching harder. He could feel his pre cum spilling from the tip, dribbling along the side of his cock.   
  
“Are you going to touch yourself?” she prompts, slowing her ministrations, making each pump more deliberate than the last, leveling his gaze, her own nipples hardening from the slight chill and her own arousal.   
  
He doesn’t reply immediately, his eyes wide, his usually icy blue irises darkened with lust as he enjoyed her stroking.   
  
“Keep going,” he manages, his voice lower, hoarse with thinly veiled arousal.   
  
She acquiesces, shifting till she was seated between his legs, her hand never leaving his cock as she continued to jerk him off, feeling herself get wetter, tenser, as she felt each throb from his cock. She slides her thumb across the tip, rubbing at his glans and the frenulum, knowing the sensitivity would heighten his pleasure.   
  
His eyes are shut, his groin tight with pleasure as she jerks him off.   
  
“Your mouth,” he manages, nearly panting. “Pleasure me with your mouth.”   
  
She smiles, secretly thrilled that she managed to stoke his salacious side and nods, leaning down to take him in her mouth **.** She suckles at his tip, slurping up the pre cum that was pooling there, the tip of her tongue sliding down the length of his slit, moaning at the salty, musky taste of him filling her mouth. A hand moves to cup his balls as she continues to suckle and lap at his tip, gradually taking more of him in, her tongue playfully lapping at his foreskin and frenulum as she worked his way down.   
  
Oswald watched her work his cock, his eyes heavy lidded, his breathing ragged as his hand moved to thread through her hair, guiding her as she pleasured him. No one had ever served him like this before and the submissive eagerness of her servile form thrilled him.   
  
She tries to take more of him in with each bob of her head, her hands still gently massaging and warming his balls. He was so thick and her mouth was full of him- the salty, musky tang of his slick and flesh were turning her on so much.   
  
She finally bottoms out, the tip of his cock bumping against the back of her throat, making her moan around his cock, her nose buried in the thatch of his pubic hair.   
  
In a rare moment of dominance, he holds her head down, relishing the hot, soft warmth of her throat envelop his cock, his hips canting up to deep throat her, a swell of pride surging through him at the slight choking sound she made.   
  
She was thrilled at this show of dominance, his mounting interest, thrilled that she was giving him so much pleasure and that he was finally showing more agency in their...encounters.   
  
She begins to bob her head, letting his hand set the pace as he fucked her face, her eyes fluttering shit as she let him deepthroat her, letting him take his pleasure from her mouth as she needed.   
  
After what seemed like a short eternity, his thrusts became more rougher, more erratic. “I’m close,” he chokes out, watching her as she bobbed her head faster, tongue swirling around his length.   
  
She doesn’t reply, merely humming her assent with his cock around her mouth, moving to suckle at his tip as her hand moved to jerk him off, determined to make him cum.   
  
He’s panting, moans and groans of pleasure punctuating his breaths as he felt the pressure and pleasure alike cresting in his abdomen, his face grimacing with pleasure as she continues to suck him off.   
  
She keeps this up, being sure to swipe her tongue along his slit, eager to make him cum.   
  
With a long, low moan of pleasure, Oswald comes hard, hips lifting sharply off the bed as he releases into her mouth, whimpering slightly as she increases the suction of his cock, eagerly drinking down his cum.   
  
She reveled in this, proud that she made him cum so hard, his cock twitching rapidly, erratically in her mouth as shots of thick, musky cum filled her mouth. She glanced up at him, making eye contact as she swallowed his seed, her eyes wide, vulnerable and submissive. She wanted this to be about him, that this lewd act of servitude would somehow give him the intimacy and security he so craved in his companionships.   
  
He watches her- stunned, amazed, a rush of male pride surging through him at the sight of her willingly-eagerly-drinking down his seed, even lapping him clean, as if she couldn’t bear to waste a drop.   
  
He lays back, closing his eyes, enjoying the aftershocks of his orgasm. He can feel her shifting up towards him, moving to lay beside him, tugging up the duvet to cover them both.   
  
He turns to face her, his face inscrutable, his eyes soft, gentle.   
  
Without a word, he takes her chin in hand and gently presses his lips to hers, an unspoken question.


	7. Chapter 7

She never expects the kiss. Had hoped for it, dreamed about it even, if she were being honest. 

A small part of her is screeching, raving- the small, increasingly manic voice of reason that tried to keep her tethered to reality. She knew who he was, what he had done, what he would do.

Yet, she couldn't help herself as she melted into the kiss, a soft whimper reverberating between them as she reciprocates, all reason tossed out of the window in favour of the intimacy she so craved with a man she barely knew.

She was taken by him: the complexity of his character, his passion, his story- the way his eyes glinted or darkened when he was emotional, his natural flair for elan and eloquence, the tentative shows of trust and affection, the fleeting moments of vulnerability…

A hand moves up to gently cradle the side of his face as she kisses him back, insistent but gentle, lost in the tenderness of the moment.

He slowly pulls away, far enough to look at her eyes, his eyes questioning.

"You care for me," he said simply, his words a statement of fact rather than an inquiry. "Why?" He murmured softly, his voice croaking slightly, as if he too was reluctant to hear the answer to the question, his eyes searching hers, trying to sift out some imperceptible show of deception.

"I don't know," she admitted softly, her hand still on his cheek, her thumb gently stroking across his cheek. She lets her hand full, sitting up a little straighter, a little closer, her breath on his cheek.

"I see a lot of my own hurt in you." She confesses, her eyes flickering downward, looking for his hand, taking it into hers. "And I feel drawn to you. Like we're connected." She continued, turning his palm face up, her index finger lightly tracing the spreading lines and whorls on his palm. "You make me feel human. You make me feel." She whispers, flipping his palm over and gently stroking his surprisingly bruised knuckles, raising them to her lips for a kiss.

"I think you're really intelligent. Cunning. Clever." She continues, smiling as she holds his hand, gently kneading it with both of hers.

She pauses, abandoning his hand to meet his gaze. "And you're handsome. Dark" she whispers, her own eyes hooded, dark, her voice tinged with awe. "You just make me feel, so much. Everything." She whispers, leaning in to kiss him on the forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling away, trying to gauge his reaction.

He stared back at her, his heart thudding heavily, loudly in his chest as he listens to her, disbelieving yet earnest. His expression is mangled with anguish, moved by the sincerity of words he would have ordinarily dismissed as insincere and sentimental. 

"I feel the same way," he responds quietly, a small smile forming on his lips as he glanced down, fidgeting. When he looks up, she's shocked to see tears again, his eyes wet with fresh tears. "You're the only one apart from my mother who has ever made me feel cared for. Loved." He says mournfully, finally breaking down, wiping his tears brashly. 

It's too much for her to bear and she moves to embrace him, relishing the feel of his bare skin against her arms and palms as she holds him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

She holds him close, her cheek pressed against his shoulder and she hugs him tighter, as if trying to pull him into her being. "I do care," she says softly, almost to herself. "And I'm glad you see it," she murmurs, even softer. 

She doesn't let go, moving to sit closer so their bodies were flush against one another, his warmth felt through her shirt.

He closes his eyes and lets her hold him, his own body screaming for the same intimacies, his soul roaring as this conversation and encounter left him battered, winded- in complete disbelief.

She moves to lean against the headboard, gently pulling him back with her, supporting his weight on her as she gets him to lie on her, thrilling at the satisfying heft of his body leaning on her body,  pinning her to the headboard.

"I'm here, Oswald," she says softly, a hand gently running through his hair, an absent kiss pressed to his temple.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

He cannot remember the last time somebody touched him- not to hurt him.  
Even under Ed’s care in his dingy apartment in Gotham, he had not experienced this degree of...attentiveness. It pleased him, made his ego swell, but deep down, past the arrogance and self indulgent pride, he knew there was something more to this.  
  
He enjoyed the way her arms enveloped him, her soft flesh pressing against his own, the way her lips would gently press against his temple- feather light and fleeting, as if by mistake. Sometimes the kisses lasted a little longer- he could feel whatever tune she hummed against his skin, and he would close his eyes, just relishing the moment.  
  
Eventually, after what seems like eons, she gently sits them up a little more, cheek resting against the crown of his head.  
  
“It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper bath, and it’s freezing outside,” she starting, her hands gently rubbing against his arms.  
  
“Would you like to join me?” she asks softly, gently rubbing her cheek against his head, a hand gently patting his arm.  
  
He finds himself nodding, his voice coarse as he replies. “A bath would be nice,” he accedes, sitting up a little more to look at her, offering her a weak smile, torn between a burgeoning desire in his gut and the need to maintain a modicum of composure.  
  
“It would, “ she muses quietly, meeting his gaze, gently nudging his nose with the tip of hers, leaning in to kiss him again, lingering this time, letting him guide the pace of the kiss.  
  
He does not disappoint, moving to deepen the kiss almost immediately, his tongue firmly but gently nudging past her lips, lapping heavily against her tongue, asking.  
  
She moans quietly, a soft groan of satisfaction as she opens her mouth wider, her tongue meeting his in a messy writhe of passion, her own tongue swiping cheekily against his top lip, lapping at his tongue.  
  
He ends the kiss abruptly, slightly breathless, pulling back to look at her with a small smile. “Shall we?” he whispers, nodding at her.  
  
\------  
  
She guides him into the tub, supporting him as he settles into the warm water with a low moan of satisfaction, settling in and sitting upright. He turns to look at her, seeing when she would join him.  
  
She looks down at him in the tub, smiling at the sight of him settling nicely into the warm waters, lazy spirals of steam rising in hazy tendrils around him. Her smile broadens as she moves to remove her top, her breasts lifting then heaving downwards, her hair cascading about her shoulders in soft waves. She turns around, bending over to remove her sweatpants and underwear, revealing the swell of her arse to him, a brief flash of her pussy before she straightens up again, glancing around to see if her little strip tease had elicited a response from him.  
  
She smiled, noticing his darkened gaze, his mouth set in a straight line, an approving expression on his features.  
  
“What a minx you are,” he murmurs, nodding at the space across from him, nudging her to join him.  
  
She smiles, moving behind him instead, gently nudging him forward. “I want to be the big spoon,” she says cheekily, sliding in behind him, her legs on either side of his body, her pussy pressed against the small of his back. She reaches for a bottle of shampoo- an ambery, vanilla scented one, squeezing out a generous amount, moving to lather his hair. She scoops up a small handful of water, wetting his hair as she begins to massage his scalp, gently swiping away stray dribbles of suds, ensuring none got into his eyes.  
  
He closed his eyes, the tense set of his his shoulders relaxing, enjoying the swift, smooth strokes of her fingertips running across his scalp- rubbing, kneading and swiping firmly across his temples, the nape of his neck, massaging the tense knots at the base of his scalp.  
  
“I’ve never had my hair washed like this,” he remarks, a hand reaching down to gently knead her calves.  
  
“Many firsts with me then,” she whispers, her thumbs massaging the base of his skull, moving sideways, upwards, pressing gently into his temples, trying to relax him even more.  
  
Once she was satisfied, she reaches for a bar of soap - bergamot and earl grey- and submerges the bar, working up a nice foamy lather before moving to his shoulders, moving to massage and knead the slope of his shoulders, the valley between his shoulder blades, her thumbs moving in a rhythmic, firm fashion, teasing out every notch and knot that her fingers encountered. “Relax, Oswald,” she says softly, leaning forward to press a light kiss against his cheek.  
  
“It’s just you and me right now. Let me take care of you,” she says softly into the shell of his ear, her teeth nipping and suckling lightly on his earlobe, her hands sliding around his torso, soaping up his chest and abdomen, lingering suggestively below his pectorals.  
  
He pauses, feeling himself harden beneath the water, his cock throbbing lightly.  
  
“Touch me,” he says roughly, his voice slightly choked, his head craning back slightly to look at her.  
  
She smiles, her cheek pressed against his again, angling her face to kiss the swell of his cheek again before she moves her hand southwards, grasping his swollen erection in hand, slowly beginning to pump.  
  
He breathes in sharply, leaning a bit more heavily against her.  
  
“Good?” she prompts, gently rubbing her cheek against him, glancing to see his expression.  
  
He nods faintly, his head lolling against hers, his cheek pressed against hers.  
  
“Straddle me,” he murmurs, his head straining, craning to look her in the eye, a slightly wild, desperate look in his eyes. “I want to feel you again, want to feel you on me,” he says hoarsely, with a terse nod of his head.  
  
“My pleasure,” she says softly, slowly clambering out of the tub, shifting and positioning herself, moving to position herself over him, taking his cock in hand and gently lowering herself on him, groaning as he filled her easily, stretching her wide despite the slick that had already begun to leak from her.  
  
His eyes flutter a little but stay open, watching her expression keenly as she takes him in fully.  
  
“I’ve...I’ve craved this, wanted this again, since the first time I felt you,” he confesses boldly, the words tumbling out of his mouth quickly, as if it was a struggle to get out. He glances up to meet her gaze, his own fiery, earnest, eager to hear what she had to say.  
  
She leaned forward to kiss him on the lips again, the contact brief but intense. “Me too,” she whispers against his lips, forehead pressed against his lips, a short grunt of pleasure as her clit nudges against his cock, swiveling her hips lightly to stimulate her clit.  
  
“Ride me,” he commanded, taking her chin in hand, getting him to look at her, nodding his head tersely, nudging his hips upward, relishing the way her pussy clenched around him, the way her hand gripped onto his shoulder.  
  
“Gladly,” she says with a smile, moving to cant her hips, the water sloshing noisily about them, whining slightly as she could not find the purchase she needed. He notices this, pausing, giving her a questioning look.  
  
“How about we wash up, we move to bed and you can take me any way you’d like?” she whispers, gently brushing a stray clump of bubble away from his forehead.  
  
He looks up at her, the radiant earnesty on her expression and he can’t help but agree, swallowing thickly, groaning as she clambers off of him, mourning the loss of that full feeling in her belly, moving to wash away the suds in his hair, the bubbles off his body. She quickly cleaned herself, before moving to help him out of the tub, swaddling him in a robe, taking another towel to dry his hair, smiling at the way his eyes raked over her naked form, shivering slightly. 

“You’re cold,” he murmurs, taking the towel and moving to pat it against her skin to dry her, leaning against her as he tried to dry her down.  
  
“Let’s move back to the bedroom,” she says softly, guiding him and supporting him as they moved to the bedroom, letting out a yelp of surprise as he suddenly shoves her to the bed, wincing slightly as he sits astride her.  
  
“Oswald, your ank-” she began, her voice faltering as he interrupts her.  
  
“No. I want to feel you. Take you again, I want to feel you fall apart around me again,” he says forcefully, hands on either side of her face. He leans down, his face mere inches away from her face. “And I want to fill you up again,” he murmurs, staring intensely, hungrily into her eyes, searching for a reaction.  
  
She stared up at him, her eyes wide, submissive.  
  
“I’d like that too,” she says softly, nodding fervently as she tries to reach beneath his robes, between his legs.  
  
He shakes his head, pinning her arms down to her sides, causing a thrill of excitement and arousal to thrum through her.  
  
“No, I set the pace this time,” he counters, shrugging off the robe, wincing slightly as he shifts his weight, moving between her legs, nudging them wider.  
  
She eagerly complies, parting them wide, feeling her hardened clit throb lightly in anticipation of what was to come.  
  
He takes his cock in hand, giving it a few rough pumps before positioning himself at her entrance, pushing in all the way with a guttural groan of pleasure, shifting his hips to settle in deep, smiling at the small whimper she let out, her eyes squeezing shut as he hit home.  
  
“Fuck,” she gasps, eyes open but heavy lidded, gazing up at him through her lashes. “Please, more,” she whispers, a hand snaking down between them to rub at her clit, a finger fumbling down to steal some slick to help her rub herself more, seeking the right amount of purchase she needed to feel good.  
  
“Such harsh language,” he teases, shifting his hips a little, canting his hips forward a little, smiling at the breathy moans he was pulling from her, knowing he had bottomed out, that she was feeling so full because of him.  
  
It took some grit, an adamance in ignoring the pain as he began to thrust, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in hard, pressing deep before he begins a brutal, brash pace, taking the pleasure he wanted and needed from her pussy, grunting in pain and pleasure as he fucked her into the bed.  
  
Her fingers continued to frantically strum at her clit, her other hand clawing between his shoulder blades, telegraphing her overwhelming pleasure.  
  
“I’m close, I’m so close,” she whimpers, eyes shut again as she chases her orgasm, her body slowly tightening.  
  
“Beg me,” he retorts, slowing his thrusts, being careful to press in extra deep, his balls pressing against her arse as he stays full seated, his cock twitching in her cunt.  
  
“O-Oswald, please” she accedes, immediately, too overcome to deny his request. “Please please let me cum,” she whimpers, her fingers still working, her hips lifting slightly, trying to get the stimulation she needed.  
  
“More,” he said simply, his expression intense, almost hostile as he responds with a sharp thrust of his hips, satisfied with the broken grasp he managed to pull from her.  
  
“Oswald, please” she says needily, her eyes pleading, expression strung tight with pleasure and need alike, her fingers scrambling to find a new pace, a new angle- anything to secure the high she chased.  
  
He kept this up, repeating it till he could feel her slick pooling around his cock, her words becoming less coherent. He accedes, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead.  
  
“You’re a good girl, “ he says against her skin, his lips brushing against her forehead as he speaks. He rears up and changes gears, setting a punishing, rapid pace, being sure to hit deeply within her each time, his balls smacking against her arse as he takes her hard, loving the small cries of pleasure from her.  
  
“I’m going to fill you up again,” he promises, his hips snapping hard and deep, ignoring the sharp pains in his ankle, the growing ache in his leg, too focused on their pleasure.  
  
She comes a loud cry, his name broken on her lips as she clamps down around him, her nails digging into his back.  
  
He smiles widely, smugly, his hips never wavering as he fucks her through her orgasm, forcing her to feel him through her high. She whimpers, over stimulated, gently canting her hips to counter the overstimulation from his rough thrusts.  
  
“Fill me up, alright,” she says desperately, nodding up at him, clenching around him to encourage him, begging him.  
  
He doesn’t reply but continues his battering pace, his pace eventually beginning to stutter as he nears his orgasm. 

  
“I need this,” she whimpers, yelping slightly as he hits particularly deep, loving the heavy throbbing in his cock.  
  
He comes with a loud groan, his cock resting thick and heavy inside of her as he begins to unload into her, experiencing a mingled sensation of sharp pleasure and pain, his old injuries flaring up as he pursued his orgasm.  
  
He barely wavers, shifting his hips slowly, pumping her full, relishing the thought that every twitch of his cock meant another thick stream of his seed was slowly filling her up, marking her as his.  
  
She opens her eyes, her vision hazy, eyes widening as she noticed the slight grimaces of pain peeking through his agonized pleasure.  
  
“Your l-” she starts, shifting from beneath him, reaching for his leg. He grabs her wrist, stilling her as he pushes back on the bed, wanting to settle this himself, letting out a soft groan of frustration as he slipped out of her.  
  
His fingers immediately went to her pussy, catching the thick clump of semen that has already begin to leak out of her, gently pressing it back, massaging her clit lightly.  
  
“No, I want to enjoy this first,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping into her, fingering her a little, a smile creeping on his expression as he felt so much of his warm seed pooling inside of her, the excess dribbling out slightly.  
  
She falters but nods, lying back, groaning softly as he fingers her gently, observing the gentle heaving of her chest as she came down from her high.  
  
It was at that moment that he realized just how compromised he was- that he was beginning- or already felt- something more for the woman currently pinned beneath him.


	9. Chapter 9

She gazed up at him, her vision slowly shimmering back into focus, watching as he fingered her, his expression intense but tender, pensive.    
  
She sought his gaze and smiled, reaching for his neck, cupping the nape of it to pull him down for a kiss.    
  
His fingers slipped out of her and he leaned on her for balance, losing himself in the kiss as her tongue lapped heavily against his, teasing the outer edges of his bottom lip, her hand on his neck steadying him as she kissed him deeply.    
  
She pulled away to smile at him, gently kissing him again before tugging him down to join her, a hand reaching for his knee.   
  
He grabbed her wrist instinctually, a brief look of panic and shame flitting across his face. She shook her head, shifting to hold his hand instead, giving it a gently squeeze as she leaned in to kiss him- taking time to be more tender, pressing her body closer such that her breasts were pressed against his chest.    
  
“I’m not going to judge you. I just want to relax you,” she murmurs, her lips plump from all the kissing. She brushed another light kiss on his lips- an ask, an apology. He reluctantly relaxes, eyes squeezing shut as she reaches to hook his knee around her hip, gently warming and massaging it. She kept this up until she felt him release a bated breath, the tense shape of his form relaxing as the pain abated somewhat.    
  
“Better?” she whispers, gently nudging his nose with hers.    
  
His eyes remain shut, unable to meet her in this intimate moment, but he moves his head slightly- a barely noticeable nod.    
  
She nods, moving to press another slow, lingering kiss to his lips, her face shifting to press soft, gently kisses on his neck, behind his ears- sometimes her lips would linger, suckling lightly to mark him.    
  
She could feel his breathing hitch when she did this, his growing erection pressing lightly against her thigh.    
  
“Oswald,” she says with a soft sigh, his name fanning across his skin as she nipped at his earlobe, the tip of her tongue tracing shapes on the nape of his neck. She pauses to leave a lingering kiss on his neck, her hand still gently massaging his knee.    
  
He doesn’t say anything, his emotions betrayed by the rapid heartbeat thrumming in his chest, the thin stream of tears that trickled down his cheek as he leaned against her, his own breathing becoming more ragged.    
  
\----    
  


Their romp meant they had to return to the bathroom to wash up again- Oswald had put up a bit of a fuss, but she compromised, wiping him down with a washcloth before moving to wash up herself. She did not see the sullen glare thrown at her by Oswald as he realized that she would be washing herself between her legs as well, undoing his work.    
  
As she joined him back in bed (he was already tucked beneath the covers), she noticed the faraway, pensive expression on his face and she couldn’t help herself.    
  
“You miss her, don’t you? Gotham?” she prompts, sitting across from him, cross legged, waiting for him to face her.    
  
He doesn’t do so yet, his mouth draw into a thin line, his body heaving with a small sigh.    
  
“I do,” he concedes, gazing out at the silhouette of the city he so loved, barely discernible in the distance, the cloud of snowfall obscuring the horizon.    
  
“I miss her terribly,” he continues, glancing down at his hands, then back out the window. She could almost see the gears turning in his head.    
  
“Even after everything that has happened to you?” she prompts, moving a little closer, moving to thread her fingers through his, gently squeezing his hand, still studying his features.    
  
“Gotham is my home. Always has been, always will be. It would be remiss of me to just abandon her and not look back...I could never,” he murmurs, finally making eye contact, his eyes dark, solemn.    
  
“Tell me,” she urges him, moving to take both his hands in hers.    
  
And he does. He tells her everything. About Galavan’s treachery, the murder of his mother, about Ed, Isabella, about getting shot, about his last memory being a hot, searing pain then a searing cold. He does not look at her, his gaze shifting between his knees, the room, the window.    
  
But when he finishes, his gaze finally flickers back to their hands, still intertwined, before looking up to meet her gaze. His expression is conflicted, troubled.    
  
“And here we are,” he concludes with a small bitter laugh.    
  
She moves closer, leaning in to gently kiss his forehead, lingering for a moment before moving to kiss him deeply on the lips.    
  
“I’m sorry, Oswald. I can’t imagine,” she murmurs, gently stroking his cheek.    
  
“I don’t expect you to,” he says with a touch of acrimony, his tone melancholic as he gazes out again.    
  
He didn’t have to say it, but she has to ask and she vocalizes the unspoken question hanging in the air between them.    
  
“You’re going to leave once you’re better, aren’t you?” she manages, her voice resigned.    
  
He inhales sharply, leveling her gaze before nodding. “Yes,” he says simply.    
  
“There is so much I have to reclaim,” he says with a steely resolve that was absent for a while, his posture straightening up as he faces her, his face determined.    
  
“You could stay here with me,” she says weakly, her words sounding foolish and empty the moment they leave her lips and she regrets it but forces herself to look at him, hoping for an eventuality she knows will not come to pass.    
  
He doesn’t reply immediately, breathing heavily as he chooses his next words.    
  
“ I cannot do that, you know this,” he says firmly, emotion barely concealed beneath the formal, perfunctory tone he ran with.    
  
“But I…” she falters, her pride stopping her from saying what she wanted to say, instead opting for some other weak refute.    
  
“But I want you here. Need you here,”    
  
She surprises them both with an admission that’s just as devastating as the truth she concealed, one that causes his facade to waver, his lips trembling slightly, jaw tightening as he steels himself.    
  
“That will not be ideal,” he manages, a forced smile on his face, his eyes shining just a little brighter, glassier. “I would be at a disadvantage. A sitting duck and you would be….” he pauses, before continuing. “A liability,” he manages, his tone betraying his struggle with the word.    
  
Her hurt is etched across her features and she nods, weakly squeezing his hand before she lets go, moving to tuck herself under the covers, making some excuse about being tired, not wanting him to see the tears that had already spilled over.    
  
He stares at her, partially frustrated, his expression betraying his horror.   
But his rationality wins out and he breathes in deeply, swallowing the tears as he reaches for the night lamp, switching it off with a decisive click. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written with "Stay with Me" by Sam Smith looping in the background.   
> Make of that what you will.


	10. Chapter 10

The days go by quickly, like an unspooling montage of greys and white, the days bleak and lonely. Conversation is kept cordial and curt- Would you like more eggs? Is the water alright?   
  
She helps him into the tub but does not linger, does not help him wash up.    
She does not dry his hair for him.    
  
She keeps bandaging his knee, his ankle, but does not massage him again, despite the baleful, hopeful looks he throws at her.    
  
They sleep in the same bed but they don’t sleep together again, the distance between them glaring.    
  
There are brief moments when they touch where it seems like the moment could evolve into something more, but one of them always breaks it, their own pride and hurt too overwhelming to take it further.    
  
The moment he is able to walk independently, she knows it is simply a matter of time.    
  
\---   
  
She wakes up to the sound of rustling, blearily glancing up to see that he is putting on scarves, a jacket.    
  
She wants to stop him, to beg him to stay. To dissuade him. But she knows there are no words in her vocabulary that could deter him.    
  
So she watches him, squeezing her eyes shut, tears streaking her face, when he turns around.    
  
“Goodbye, my dear,” he whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.    
  
She squeezes her eyes shut tighter, thankful that her face was concealed by the duvet.    
  
A few shuffling footsteps.   
  
A gust of cold air.    
  
And she finally lets herself cry again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me through all of this. 
> 
> Fret not, there are companion/sequel fics already lined up! :)
> 
> Please DM me with ideas/suggestions on how you'd like this relationship to evolve- I'm open to hearing options. 
> 
> Thank you for taking time to read through my work.


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